Moxie:
Come and talk to me before practice if you can.
“Well, that feels ominous,” I mutter. Sighing, I pet Beef on the head and do the same to Savannah, snickering when she playfully scowls at me. “I’ve been summoned by the boss. Listing off all the reasons you like me would take too long, so I should go before you get carried away.”
I expect a snarky response, but Savannah simply says, “Probably,” in a breathy voice that does not in any way motivate me to leave.
Cursing, I run a hand through my hair and shake my head at her. “You chose this too,” I remind her and wave my hand back and forth across the distance between us. “And I’m the one playing by the rules.”
“You absolutely are not,” she argues. “Every time you look at me, you make me wonder why it’s a good idea to be just friends.”
I grin. “You have terrible taste in friends.”
“You saying that proves that I don’t. You’re…” She pulls her hair back, holding it off her neck in the way she often does if we spend too long in proximity. “You’re actually kind of great, Logan. Once you set aside the ego, anyway.”
Backing away, I focus on the buzz of my phone in my pocket instead of looking too closely at the stomach-clenching desire in her eyes. Rugby.Answers. That’s why I’m here. Not to get entangled with a woman who might be worth staying for. “Ego’s still here, love,” I say in a low tone. “You’ve just figured out that I’ve earned it.”
Savannah makes a sound in her throat that would have pulled me back toward her if Beef didn’t hop from the couch and approach me with a wild look in his eyes. I know that look, and he’s likely about to leap at me for a claw-secured cuddle.
“Easy, mate,” I say, holding up a hand, and I slip through the door before he gets too close. I’m all for a proper cuddle, but I really am late.
On my way down to the car park, I read the second text Moxie sent—Unless you’ve decided to leavethe team and spend your time with Savannah, in which case a heads up would be nice.—and roll my eyes. I type out a quick reply, telling him I’m on my way, and toss my phone onto the passenger seat of my car as I hit the ignition and head out.
My phone buzzes again, but I don’t bother looking at whatever mocking remark Moxie has for me. He can joke all he wants, but Savannah and I both know that it’s a bad idea to be anything but what we are. No matter how much I would love to take her up in my arms and kiss her, taste her, explore her, I’m not keen to play with her heart.
Or mine.
Taking a step forward with Savannah will only make it that much harder to leave.
She deserves better than that.
Chapter 18
Logan
Withallmyreluctanceto get to practice, at least I jump right back into the swing of things once I’m on the pitch. There’s still some residual pain in my shoulder, but I don’t let it hold me back. I use the pain to keep myself focused, paying more attention to the pitch in front of me than ever before. Yes, it was an illegal hit that injured me, not any fault of my own, but bad tackles won’t be a problem if I can avoid tackles all around.
Despite some awkwardness at first, the rest of the backs fall into an easy rhythm with me as we run drills, dropping their usual glares and eye rolls and instead locking in, like they’re feeding off my focus and matching it with their own. There’s not a lot of conversation—not unusual with me—but we seem to be reading each other better than ever.
It’s the best practice I’ve had with the Thunder since I got here.
The only person who can’t get on the same wavelength is Bean, who showed up half an hour later than I did and has barely been able to keep up. He gets more and more frustrated asthe evening goes on, and the coaches clearly don’t know what to do with him because they stop shouting directions at him and turn their focus to the rest of us.
Of course, Moxie’s attention doesn’t shift. I was late enough that we haven’t had a chance to talk, which is fine by me, but something about the worried look on his face as he watches Bean fumble his fifth pass of the night settles in my belly, leaving me uneasy. Even when the whole team’s having a poor practice, Moxie doesn’t usually carry that stress so openly.
If he’s worried, things must really be bad.
When we line up for a passing drill and Moxie misses a pass from the scrum-half because he’s looking down the line at Bean, I can’t stand back in silence anymore.
“Hey,” I say, nudging Moxie’s arm as we reset to run the drill again. “Any idea what’s up with Bean?”
Normally, Moxie would brush the question aside and remind me to focus on my own game instead of making things worse, but he frowns at our teammate. “No. And if he can’t pull it together, he won’t see the starting line for the rest of the season.”
“That won’t improve his mood,” I guess.
“Nope.”
“I’ve seen the string bean play. He’s better than this.”
